


A Dalish Inquisition

by Megan140



Series: A Dalish Tale [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Corypheus Being an Asshole, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Elvish, How many times does Theron need to save the world, Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus Friendship, M/M, Warden Inquisitor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 09:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12603488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megan140/pseuds/Megan140
Summary: Theron Mahariel saved Thedas once from the Blight and figured that would be enough. At the Conclave he was once again in the wrong place at the right time. Now he has to save the world with a Qunari, a crass city elf, a dwarf with more loyalty than sense, and an apostate that knows more than he should; something about this seems familiar. How is he supposed to save everyone without anyone realizing who he really is?





	1. The Breach

Disclaimer: I don’t own Dragon Age

Theron woke to sore legs, an aching hand, and the nagging suspicion that he had forgotten something important. Before he could think more of how he had gotten to be in such a predicament, pain flared in his left hand; a pain he had not felt since his hospitable stay at Fort Drakon at Loghain’s insistence.  


His cry alerted the guards that he was awake and he could hear swords being drawn. He opened his eyes and glared at the shackles. How dare they imprison him! Suddenly, pieces came rushing back: the Conclave, the explosion, and him being chased. “Zev,” he muttered. Zevran was supposed to meet him at the Conclave, if he had been caught in the blast…  


The door flew open and in walked Leliana with a woman he recognized as the Right Hand of the Divine, Seeker Cassandra Pentagast. He was grateful to see Leliana right up until Cassandra grabbed him by the front of his borrowed armour.  


“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Everyone except for you,” she threw him back to the ground in an attempt to intimidate him; this woman had a lot to learn.  


He glanced over at Leliana who returned his look with a hard stare. _No help there then,_ he thought. “Mara gara banal o em (You get nothing from me),” he hissed.  


Cassandra grabbed him by his left wrist and lifted, “Explain this.”  


The Mark flared and he cried out; that one was worse than the last! “Lasa em dara (Let me go)!” He ordered and the Seeker got a first-hand lesson on just how flexible elves could be. Theron twisted at a seemingly impossible angle and kicked the woman in the head.  


The Seeker, in her surprise, dropped Theron who landed and rolled out of the way of a descending sword. “Stop!” She commanded and marched towards the elf with murder in her eyes.  


Leliana grabbed her by the arm, “We need him, Cassandra.”  


“Nura ma banafelas (May you rot),” he growled as he righted himself into a crouching position.  


“You remember how this all began?” Leliana asked, but he knew it was a rhetorical question. So he glared at the woman he had thought his friend.  


“Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” Cassandra instructed as she took a deep breath, “I will take him to the Rift.”  


“Tel’din dirtha aron ar te’elan hartha (Do not speak like I cannot hear)!” He hissed.  


Leliana nodded and Cassandra pulled a key from her armour and unlocked his shackles on to ties his hands with rope. “Where are you taking me?!” He demanded.  


“Now you speak Common,” Cassandra growled.  


“Felasil Shemlen (Idiot human),” he snarked.  


The Seeker sighed irritably, “It would be easier to show you.” She reached to grab him, but stopped when she saw the look in his eyes. She offered a hand to help him up that he swatted aside and stood up on his own. She turned and led him out of the building he still recognized from over a decade ago.  


Theron stepped out and stared in awe and horror at the Breach, “By the Dread Wolf!”  


“We call it ‘the Breach’. It’s a massive Rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour,” Cassandra explained, “It’s not the only such Rift. Just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.” She walked over to him, “Unless we act, the Breach may until it swallows the world.” The Breach flared and so did Theron’s mark, causing him to fall to the ground in pain. He pulled his hand close and curled around it. “Each time the Breach expands, your Mark spreads…and it is killing you,” she continued.  


Survived the taint, Darkspawn, the Archdemon, and talking Darkspawn only to be killed by my own hand, he thought bitterly.  


“It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time,” she finished.  


“You still think I did this. To myself!” He accused.  


“Not intentionally. Something clearly went wrong,” she answered.  


_Yeah, I took an interest in the outside world_ he thought. “And if I’m not the one responsible,” he questioned.  


“Someone is and you are our only suspect,” Cassandra replied, “You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.”  


“I doubt there is anything I can do to prove my innocence to any of you Shems. You are determined to have me pay.” He accused, “Fine. It seems I am doomed either way. Let us close this Breach and hope it kills me before your Shem ‘justice’ does.”  


Cassandra nodded and helped him to his feet, walking him passed angry people who didn’t even know they owed their lives to him. “They have decided your guilt, they need it,” she began, “The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers.”  


They walked up the mountain path he recognized from his first trip to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. “It was a chance for peace between the Mages and Templars,” she continued, “She brought their leaders together. Now they are dead. We lash out like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves. As she did.” They walked through the gates and Cassandra stopped on the bridge, pulling out a dagger. She reached for the rope but with some shifting, Theron slid his hands right out. “How?” She stared at the fallen rope, baffled.  


“You don’t tie too many elves, do you?” He asked, but both knew it wasn’t a question.  


They started walking again. “There will be a trial; I can promise no more. Come, it is not far,” she spoke as she walked. He followed closely as she led him, but he knew the way without her help. “Your Mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.”  


The two continued on passed people running toward Haven screaming it was the end of the world when the Mark expanded and sent Theron to his knees in a cry of pain. Cassandra was quick to return to his side and aided him in getting to his feet; she ignored that he had leaned against her to remain upright. “The pulses are coming faster now,” she stated like he couldn’t tell on his own.  


“How did I survive the blast?” He asked as they started moving again, he didn’t like this woman but he wanted to know.  


“They say you stepped out of the rift and fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you but no one knows who she was,” she explained, “everything farther in the valley was laid waste, including the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I supposed you’ll see soon enough.”  


*****  


The two were halfway across the bridge when a blast from the Breach shattered it and sent them sprawling onto the frozen river below. Not far off a Shade clawed its way out of the ground.  


Cassandra drew her sword, “Stay behind me!” She rushed to fight the demon. Theron was content to watch when another demon began clawing its way out. The elf glanced back for a weapon and saw a bow, not as good at his old one was, but it would do. He grabbed the bow and quiver and made short work of the demon.  


Cassandra nearly tripped over her feet in shock when an arrow lodged itself in the demon’s head, ending it; she thought at first it was Leliana, but turned and saw the prisoner poking at the remains of a demon with the tip of a bow.  


“It’s over,” he stated as he finished his examination of the corpse.  


Cassandra marched over and pointed her sword at him. “Drop your weapon! Now!” She ordered.  


Theron glared at her with a look that almost made her think she was talking to a superior officer and not an elven prisoner with a bow. “No,” he countered and gripped the bow tight.  


The Seeker scowled, “That was not a suggestion.”  


“Good because that wasn’t optional,” he replied venomously, “you are dragging me quite possibly to my death, to Mythal knows where, to do Syliase knows what, and expect me to follow happily unarmed as we fight demons.” The elf slung the bow over his shoulder, “I will not go anywhere unarmed, and especially with someone who thinks I blew up a bunch of people with no greater evidence than ‘I happened to survive the blast’ and would shed no tears if a judge called for my head.”  


Cassandra sighed and sheathed her blade, “You are right. I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to remain defenseless,” the two began walking, “Your life is threatened enough as it is.”  


It took some time, but the two eventually made it onto the path. In the distance, fighting could be heard. “There, in the distance, you can hear the fighting,” Cassandra informed, either ignoring or forgetting elves had better hearing than humans. Theron ignored her and ran passed, drawing his bow as he went.  


He came to a scene of an elf and a dwarf fighting demons falling out of the rift. Theron swore he recognized the dwarf from a story Zevran had told him, but he pushed it out, thinking about Zev and how he was likely dead was too much. He needed to deal the problem now before he let his grief take him.  


A few well-placed arrows and the demons were gone, the other elf grabbed his hand and thrust it at the Rift, “Quickly, before more come through!”  


Theron could feel something in the Rift reaching for him, on instinct he reached for it and pulled and the Rift closed. He looked over at the other elf, “What did you do?”  


“I didn’t nothing, the credit is yours,” the other responded.  


The archer stared at his hand as he listened to the trees around them; they spoke of the bald elf and his ancient magic; trees always remembered. “At least this is good for something,” he grumbled.  


“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand,” the elf continued, “I theorized the Mark might be able to close the Rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake and it seems I was correct.”  


Cassandra walked over, “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”  


“Possibly,” the elf nodded, “it seems you hold the key to our salvation.”  


Theron studied the bald elf, listening and trying to find out why he felt homesick when he was near this man. “Good to know!” The Dwarf interrupted his thoughts, “And here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” He walked over to Theron. “Varric Tethras; rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tag along,” he winked at Cassandra who made a disgusted noise.  


“Are you with the Chantry, or…?” Theron asked. The dwarf reminded him of Burkel from Orzammar for some reason.  


The other elf chuckled, “Is that a serious question?”  


“Technically I’m a prisoner, just like you,” he answered.  


“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine. Clearly that is no longer necessary,” the Seeker argued.  


“Yet here I am, lucky for you, considering current events,” he replied with a grin.  


Theron nodded, “Pleased to meet you.”  


The other elf chuckled again, “You may reconsider that stance in time.”  


“Aw, I’m sure we’ll all be great friends in the Valley, Chuckles,” Varric laughed.  


“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live,” the other elf introduced.  


“He means ‘I kept that mark from killing you as you slept’,” Varric helpfully translated; Theron liked him already.  


“I didn’t know, ma serrannas (Thank you” lit.” My thanks),” Theron thanked.  


“Ra dea de den banal (It was nothing),” Solas smiled. Theron nearly broke out into a grin; he never thought to find someone who spoke Elvish here! Solas turned to the Seeker, “Cassandra, you should know; the magic here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”  


Cassandra sighed and nodded, “Understood.”  


_Sure she believes THAT elf when he says I’m innocent but not me,_ he mentally complained.  


“We must get to the forward camp,” she ordered.  


Varric got a good look at the side of the Seeker’s head and noticed the big bruise forming, “You didn’t have that earlier.”  


Before Cassandra could reply, Theron answered, “The Seeker learned just how far an Elven foot can reach.”  


Solas bit back a snort but Varric didn’t bother, “You kicked the Seeker in the head?”  


Theron shrugged and gave the woman a sidelong look, “I told her to let me go.”  


Cassandra marched ahead of them, “Quickly.”  


Varric began walking, “Well, Bianca is excited!”  


“Av’ahn’su’vi’in Durgen’lin (Curious dwarf),” Theron commented, “is bor’assan emen a melin (His bow has a name)?”  


“Vin (yes),” Solas nodded, “ma dirashen ash sal’in (You kicked her in the head)?”  


Theron laughed and nodded, “vin.”  


*****  


The four continued on, fighting demons along the way with Varric trying to guess his clan. Thankfully, the Dwarf didn’t notice how he tensed when he mentioned Merrill. “Come on, Stretch, you have to give me a hint here,” Varric whined.  


Theron laughed, “’Stretch’?”  


“Yeah, the Seeker is a pretty tall woman, you would have to stretch to kick her in the head,” the Dwarf explained.  


The elf laughed louder, “Fair enough. Fine, my clan is in the Free Marches.”  


“Really, you don’t sound like a Free Marcher, underneath that accent all you Dalish have, you almost sound Fereldan,” the storyteller conversed.  


Theron shook his head, “No more hints, you get it on your own or not at all.”  


“You Elves never play fair,” Varric mock grumbled and changed the topic, “so, are you innocent?”  


“I don’t see myself blowing up a building with a bunch of people in it, but I don’t remember,” he answered and Cassandra couldn’t help, but notice how much more friendly he was with the other two than he was with her.  


“That’ll get you every time. You should’ve spun a story,” Varric smiled  


“That’s what YOU would have done,” the Seeker growled.  


“It’s more believable and less likely to result in premature execution,” the Dwarf replied.  


“Fine, Fen’Harel blew up the Conclave,” Theron shrugged.  


“You believe in the Elven Creators,” Solas stated.  


“To a point, I suppose, but that was a running joke between myself and another Dalish elf in response to all the Shems saying ‘it is the Marker’s plan.’ Both of us have seen too much to blindly believe in those stories,” Theron answered.  


“The Maker has a hand in everything,” Cassandra argued.  


“Yes, and Fen’Harel actually blew up the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” the hunter rolled his eyes. The Seeker grumbled, but said nothing as she approached the gate.  


They walked over to the bridge and could hear Leliana arguing. The Chancellor looked up from the table to glare at Theron. “I order you to imprison this elf and prepare him for trial,” the man ordered.  


Theron glared back at him and once more Cassandra got the feeling she was looking at a superior officer rather than an elf. “Ma elana esay, Shemlen (You can try),” he challenged.  


“Hey, Chuckles, what did he say?” Varric asked.  


“He dared the Chancellor to try,” Solas answered.  


Cassandra ignored them all, not wanting to see what the fiery prisoner would do if backed into a corner. “Order me?! You are a clerk, a bureaucrat.”  


“And you are thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry,” the man fired back.  


“We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know,” Leliana interrupted.  


“Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement and obey her orders on the matter,” he argued.  


“So no one is in charge,” Theron stated.  


“And whose fault is that?!” He snarled and turned to Cassandra, “Call a retreat, Seeker. Our situation here is hopeless.”  


The Seeker shook her head, “I do not believe that.”  


“What you ‘believe’ doesn’t matter,” the Chancellor snapped.  


“We have to try,” Leliana argued. The Chancellor threw up his hands in frustration and looked at the map on the table.  


“We can take the route through the Temple, it is the fastest,” Cassandra suggested.  


“But not the safest. Our forces can charge as a distraction while you take the mountain path,” Leliana offered.  


“We lost contact with an entire squad on that mountain,” the Seeker argued and turned to Theron, “what do you think?”  


“Now you’re asking me for my opinion?” Theron asked incredulously.  


“You are the one we must keep alive,” Leliana informed.  


“Yes, so a judge can call for my head later,” he hissed, letting his hurt at Leliana’s actions earlier colour his response. He closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. “No one gets left behind, we take the mountain path. Work together; we all know what’s at stake.”  


Varric nodded his approval and Cassandra frowned as the elf ignored her. “Leliana, gather everyone from the Valley, everyone,” the Seeker ordered.  


“On your head be the consequences, Seeker,” the Chancellor snarked as the woman walked passed.

The four headed through the mountain with Solas and Varric bickering about whether a Breach in the fade could cause the Conclave explosion. The group was close to where contact with the scouts had been lost and both Elves could head fighting. “Closing the Breach should be out top priority,” Solas suggested.  


“I’m leaving that decision to Stretch,” Varric replied.  


“We will not leave anyone behind,” Theron stated in a way that Cassandra could easily believe that he had led forces before. He drew his bow and started running, “they’re close!” He loosed an arrow and all could hear the squall of a demon.  


The fight didn’t last long and the remainder of the squad turned gratefully to the Seeker. “It’s a good thing you came when you did, Seeker Cassandra, I don’t think we could have held them off much longer.”  


“Don’t thank me, it was the prisoner who insisted we come this way,” she replied.  


“The prisoner?” The scout asked and turned to the elf.  


“We stand together or fall separately,” Theron stated, “Go; the way behind us is clear for the moment.” The scouts nodded and ran down the path they came.


	2. Sealing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron tries to seal the Breach with mixed results and Leliana feels guilty.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Dragon Age (but I REALLY wish I owned a faster computer)

Theron and everyone stopped to stare up at the Breach. “I hope you have a plan for getting me up there, Seeker,” he commented.

Leliana walked over and tapped Theron on the shoulder, “A word?”

Theron gave her a hard look, “Will it involve accusing me of killing your Shem Divine?”

The woman bristled at that, but didn’t rise to the bait, “No.”

Theron nodded, “Very well then.” The two walked off a short ways, out of earshot of the others.

“Not once have you mentioned your part in the Blight,” Leliana started.

“Because I registered for the Conclave as Mahanon from Clan Lavellan, not Theron Mahariel: Hero of Ferelden,” he answered shortly, “If any knew who I was, they would have tried to get me to run the sodding thing. I knew you would try the moment word reached me that this Conclave would take place.”

“Of course we would have! Mages and Templars alike would have listened to you,” Leliana argued.

“Which is why I told no one where I was and didn’t give my true name,” Theron answered with folded arms across his chest.

“Why?!” She asked, exasperated.

“You have no right to know,” the Elf replied and walked passed her, “I don’t care whether or not you think I killed your Divine; I do, however, care whether you keep my secret.”

“Theron,” Leliana started but the Elf kept walking away.

He turned to where the others were waiting and ignored their questioning looks, “I am ready if you all are.”

“Let’s do this then,” the Seeker nodded and the group descended.

As they walked down, Varric eyed the Red Lyrium. “This is Red Lyrium, Seeker,” the Dwarf glared at the red crystals.

“I see it, Varric,” Cassandra replied.

“But what is it doing here?” He rushed passed it.

“Perhaps magic drew on the Lyrium beneath the Temple, corrupting it,” Solas theorized.

“Feh, it’s evil; whatever you do don’t touch it,” he warned. Theron could almost hear the song. He had been warned Red Lyrium sang and couldn’t help but be reminded of when he had been Tainted.

_You can’t get me with that song, I already know those lies,_ he thought at the crystals.

“Now is the hour of our victory,” echoed around them and the voice alone grated on his nerves.

“Someone, help me!” Cried out another voice and Cassandra jumped.

“That was Divine Justinia’s voice!” She exclaimed, “Solas, what are we hearing?”

“At a guess, whoever created the Breach,” Solas explained, “echoes from the Fade linger in this place.”

“What’s going on here?!” Theron heard himself demand in the echo.

“Run while you can! Warn them!” Justinia called out.

Cassandra stepped in front of him, “you were there! And Most Holy called out to you! What happened?!”

“I already said I don’t remember,” he growled and walked around her and hopped down the ledge.

The Rift flared and vague images formed of Divine Justinia and whoever was holding her hostage. “You must remember!” Cassandra followed after him.

“And yet I don’t,” he replied and walked the perimeter of the Rift; this one was much larger than the others he had closed.

“This Rift is closed. Albeit temporarily. Be warned, opening the Rift will likely garner attention from the other side,” Solas warned.

“That means demons!” Cassandra shouted, “be ready!”

Theron got close to the Rift and could feel that strange magic reaching for him. “Halam shivanas (T/N: Sweet sacrifice of duty),” he sighed and reached his marked hand out and connected with that magic, pulling with all he had. He grunted at the exertion, but it was lost as a roar echoed and a Pride Demon appeared. “Fenedhis (T/N: it’s a curse word. Literally translates to “Wolf dick”)!” He cursed and drew his bow.

“Archers!” Cassandra called out and the demon laughed as arrows bounced off, “we need to strip its defenses! Wear it down!”

He glanced back at the open Rift giving the demon power. I wonder, he pulled at that magic again, partially closing the Rift; it had the desired effect, the demon fell to its knees too weak to keep its guard up. “Now!” He shouted.

All focused their attack on the weakened demon and were able to do a fair amount of damage before it reconnected with the Fade when the Rift reopened. Theron swore under his breath and turned his attention back to the Rift, unaware of the Shade Demon approaching behind him until it was too late. 

He grunted as its claws tore into his back, breaking his concentration. The demon was too close for his bow to be effective so he smacked it with the end and back flipped to make more room, while also drawing an arrow. The arrow hit its mark but it would take more than one to kill the Shade and he also had to worry about the Pride Demon and the other Shades. He needed to close the Rift.

“Varric!” He called out, the Dwarf turned to hear him better, “watch my back!”

The rogue ran closer and saw the blood running down his armour, “your back is _bleeding_ , Stretch!”

“That’s not important right now!” He lectured, “the only way we stand a chance is if I cut that thing off from its power source and I can’t do that if I have to watch for Shades!” Varric nodded and buried a bolt in a Shade. Theron returned his attention to the Rift; he pulled again and the Rift slammed partially shut again.

“Now!” The Seeker yelled and all attention was turned from the fallen Shades to the Pride Demon. By now, it had figured out who was cutting it off from its power and focused its attention on Theron.

“Stretch, look out!” Varric warned when he saw the demon raise its hand.

Cassandra turned and started to run for the elf, but she was too far to reach. Solas quickly cast a barrier over the other elf and the electricity bounced harmlessly off. “Ma serannas sal (T/N: my thanks again), Solas!” Theron shouted and returned to the Rift, one more should do it.

The demon howled its rage and kept trying to attack Theron, but Solas’ barrier stayed strong and any Shade who got too close had to deal with Varric. The archer pulled once more and the demon fell dead.

“Now!” Solas hollered, “quickly!”

Theron gathered all his remaining strength that he hadn’t already thrown at the Rift or hadn’t bled out of him and pulled one last time. His veins felt like fire ran through them instead of blood and at the same time, he had never felt so empty, like a brazier with little oil left. The Rift closed, he pulled his hand back, and remembered flying back from the shockwave before his world was consumed by black.

* * *

Cassandra was the first to get to her feet and she staggered over to where she had last seen the Prisoner. Varric was next to rise and ran shakily to a pile of rubble and a form partially concealed by the debris. The Seeker felt her heart fall into her stomach and she ran over, heedless of Solas joining her.

There lay the Elf sprawled on the building debris and bleeding badly from his back. “A Shade got him earlier but he refused to stop,” Varric explained.

“Seeker, help me get his armour off,” Solas requested and the woman rushed over.

“Should we not move him first?” She asked.

The Elf shook his head, “we must first make sure it is safe to do so.” The two struggled with the armour until Cassandra drew her dagger and cut through the ties on the side while Solas removed the helmet he had found and “borrowed.” The Apostate did a quick exam to check for anything broken before okaying the hunter to be moved.

Gently Theron was moved and Solas got a better look at the Dalish hunter: the Elf looked young but most Elves did, even to other Elves. He recognized the Vallaslin as belonging to Dirthamen but the black ink had faded, meaning he had gotten them a long time ago. The lines were also broken in a few spots by scars almost too faint to see; a talented healer had cared for those wounds. The Elf had thick black wavy hair that had been cut short with the exception of two long braids framing his face, reaching passed his chin; a feather had been braided into the right one. Hanging from his neck was an ancient pendant, obviously an heirloom with Halla carved into it with the phrase “saron ar’an rosa (T/N: together we stand lit. “together we survive”), atha ar’an dina (T/N: separate we fall lit. separate we die).”

“I see no reason not to roll him onto his stomach,” he commented and Cassandra and a guard rolled him. The guard let out a noise of surprise at the state of the Elf’s back; even under the gashes and blood, old whipping scars could be seen, some that looked like they had been badly infected and healed poorly as a result. Solas ignored the blood and placed his hands on the archer’s back, doing his best to ignore the word “traitor” that had been carved across a shoulder that had somehow avoided the lash of the whip.

The mage poured his healing magic into the other Elf and could feel more than see the wounds closing. He lifted his hands and wiped the blood off them into a rag someone had given him. “Thankfully the cuts were not deep.” He commented and stood up.

“Can’t you do anything about all…that?” Varric gestured to the mess that was the hunter’s back.

Solas shook his head, “unfortunately those are too old to fully heal and from the look of some, a skilled healer already tried to make them disappear.”

Cassandra rolled him onto his back, but the Elf remained unconscious. “Something else is wrong, Solas, he won’t wake up,” she observed and slapped the unconscious Elf’s cheek to be sure. 

“I suspect he is simply tired,” the Apostate started and continued at the Seeker’s hard stare, “I suspect that fueling the magic of the Mark requires a great deal of energy and since he is not a mage, he has no mana for it to draw from.”

“It comes from his stamina,” Varric finished.

Solas nodded, “it would also be why the Breach is not closed; it would have taken all he had and more to close it even without his injury.”

“Meaning he will need help closing the Breach fully,” Cassandra sighed and turned to the soldier nearby, “get a stretcher, we will take him to Haven and treat him fully there.”

* * *

Theron was laid out on a cot in the infirmary with Adan standing over him with his arms folded across his chest. “I don’t know what you expect me to do, the mage already healed his wounds,” he argued.

“We have no idea how this will affect him and nowhere else to put him,” Cassandra answered shortly, “this man risked his life to save ours, show some respect.”

Adan huffed but leaned over the Elf and peeled back an eyelid, examining the pupil. He hummed and let it fall. He jabbed a finger in Theron’s side only for the Elf to remain unresponsive. “That could be a problem,” he finally commented.

“What?!” Cassandra asked.

“The pupil doesn’t shrink when the eyelid is opened and doesn’t react when pressure is applied to a sensitive area. As far as I can tell, nobody’s home,” the Apothecary explained, “which can get dangerous if we can’t wake him.” He stepped back, “I’ll get one of the Tranquil to try and rouse him and give him water. Other than that, there isn’t much I can do.”

The Seeker nodded and left the infirmary. She walked over to the Chantry door to see Leliana reading over the Conclave registry. “I take it you found the name of our prisoner,” she commented.

“Can we really still call him that?” Leliana asked rhetorically.

“What else can we call him by?” The Seeker questioned, indicating to the papers the Left Hand was holding.

Leliana was quiet for a moment and Cassandra thought for a moment she wouldn’t answer. “His name is Mahanon from Clan Lavellan; from what I know of them, Clan Lavellan travels mostly in the Free Marches, but cross into Fereldan when ice develops on the Waking Sea,” she answered, “they are friendlier with Humans than most Dalish and trade freely with the people of Wycome.”

Cassandra nodded and glanced over at the infirmary, “that doesn’t explain why he was at the Conclave.”

The Spymaster shook her head, “I suspect only he and his clan knows. We will just have to wait for him to tell us.” The Seeker got the vague feeling Leliana wasn’t telling her everything but let it go; the Left Hand was known for her secrets and Cassandra trusted her enough to not question what she was hiding. “I better get this list to Josie. She’ll want to notify the families of those we lost in the Conclave,” she walked passed Cassandra and into the Chantry.

Josephine looked up from her paperwork when her door opened and saw Leliana enter with a pile of paper. “I take it that is the Conclave Registry,” she smiled sadly.

Leliana nodded, “it is, but there is more.” She shut the door and walked around to stand beside the Ambassador. “Our guest wrote his name as Mahanon Lavellan,” she started.

“But…” Josephine prompted.

“But I know him by a different name,” she sighed, “I have not told Cassandra or Cullen, but I believe you should know to help quell rumors that will undoubtedly spawn when people see him.”

Josephine had never seen her friend like this and wanted to wait patiently for her to say what she needed to, but couldn’t wait for Leliana to open up in her own time. “Leliana, who is he?” She asked.

Leliana sighed again and let go of the papers, “Warden Commander Theron Mahariel.”

The Ambassador nearly fell out of her chair at that confession and only barely managed to control her reaction when Leliana glared at her. “Are you certain, Leliana?”

She nodded, “I asked him why he would go by Mahanon instead of letting everyone know who is, but he refused to tell me. He does not want anyone to know who he is.”

Josie nodded, “very well, I will help you keep his secret. There will be certainly some who recognize him but thankfully, most Elves look alike to most humans. Why wouldn’t he tell you? Aren’t you his friend?”

The Left Hand refused to look her in the eye, “I was so certain he was guilty. I didn’t trust him. How can I call myself his friend after that sort of betrayal? He’s made it quite clear he no longer trusts me.”

The Ambassador was silent for a moment, “you said once that the Dalish value actions over words, yes?”

Leliana looked over at her nodded slowly, “yes. Where are you going with this Josie?”

“Then you just need to show him that you are sorry and want to regain his trust,” Josephine smiled.

The Spymaster straightened and smiled, “that’s it! You’re a genius, Josie! I can find Zevran.” She turned to head to the door, “his name wasn’t on the Registry. They must think the other is dead. I have to find him.”

“Could he not have used a fake name as well?” The diplomat asked.

“Zevran would not have needed to; no one paid him much attention during the Blight so no one would look twice,” Leliana was walking quickly to her tent, “he still may not forgive me but it will give him peace of mind if I can find Zevran.” She quickly wrote out a note and stuffed it into a scroll, “he was more than likely on his way to the Conclave, and he could still be nearby.” She attached the scroll to a messenger bird and sent it off. “Maker willing, he’ll be here before Lavellan wakes up.”


	3. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zevran makes his way to Haven and Solas meets a Mabari

Disclaimer: I don’t own Dragon Age (duh)

* * *

 

 

                Zevran had been planning to meet Theron at the Conclave; the assassin had business to take care of in Nevara and Theron was going to spend time with his clan that had joined clan Lavellan after that unfortunate incident with Keeper Marethari and her First, Merrill. With no Keeper to lead them, Theron took a special trip to the Free Marches to lead the remainder of his clan to the nearby Lavellan clan; he had originally thought of having them join the Lanyru clan in Fereldan but knew there would be conflicts between the Elves and the sailors. Theron mourned the loss of his clan, but at least some members were still alive. Zevran doubted Theron would ever forgive Merrill, but was holding off on hunting her down due to her part in saving the Antivan.

                The assassin had been in a small village half a day from Haven when news of the explosion reached, not that the news was really needed, the tremors could be felt from where he was. There was talk of how there was a survivor who was responsible for the Divine’s death so he knew it wasn’t Theron. Still, the Elf hadn’t left yet because some part of him hoped his love was alive.

                “Come, Fen, let us see what there is to do here before moving on,” Zevran called to the Mabari Theron had insisted he bring. As the Warden had put it, his life was in no real danger in the forest, but his Mabari, Fen’nas (Wolf soul. It's what Theron named his Mabari) could protect Zevran in the big cities. Both dog and assassin argued, but in the end, the Warden had his way.

                The battle-scarred Mabari barked in argument before heading out. Zevran had not told the hound of his Master’s death since he could not believe it himself. _I will not believe you are dead until I have seen your body for myself, amor,_ Zev thought. The assassin fingered the amulet Theron had made for him while they were still in Denerim recovering from the battle against the Archdemon. The amulet had Theron’s vallas’lin on the outside of the amulet with a crow in mid-flight in the center with _secreto de gallo_ (Crow’s secret) etched on the back; where his love learned Antivan, he never did find out.

                He stepped out of the inn he was staying at only to spot a woman in strange armour with a heraldry he had never seen before carrying a piece of parchment in one hand and a horse’s reins in the other. Fen’nas growled a warning to the strange woman and Zev reached for his daggers, but the woman stopped a fair distance away, obviously expecting his reaction. “Are you Zevran Ariani?” She asked in a patient tone.

                “Depends on who is asking,” he replied, never taking his hands off his weapons.

                “Sister Nightingale has a message for an Elf by the name of Zevran, Zev to his friends,” the woman explained.

                His ears perked up at the name, “Leliana has a message for me?” He dropped one hand and walked a little closer.

                “Yes, she says to tell you that he is in Haven,” she answered. “She said you would know who she meant.”

                It took a moment for Zevran to connect the dots but nearly jumped when he did. “He’s alive!” He whooped before he could contain himself.

                The woman held out the reins and the Elf did not hesitate. “Sister Nightingale will explain everything upon your arrival at Haven,” she finished and walked off.

                “Come, Fen, we ride to Haven!” He pulled himself onto the horse and the Mabari barked excitedly.

* * *

 

                It was nearly sundown when her scouts sent word of an Elf with a Mabari, riding hard towards Haven. The Spymaster walked to the gate to patiently wait for the Elf.

                Zevran didn’t even wait for the horse to completely stop before hopping off and Fen’nas was already jumping on her like he was a puppy and not an eleven-year-old war dog. “Yes, Fen, I missed you too. Now down,” she patted the dog’s head and pushed the great beast off her. They had started to gather a crowd but Cullen and Cassandra were quick to shoo them off.

                Leliana took a good look at her friend; very little about the Elf had changed and Leliana envied how young Elves always looked. The only things that had changed was the fact that he had lost his cocky demeanour and had grown his hair out; instead of two small braids reaching to the back to form one small braid amidst loose hair, they now met up in the back to form one large braid going down to his shoulders.

                “It is good to see you are well,” she greeted, but the Elf wasn’t having it.  
                “Where is he, Leliana? Your agent said you would explain,” he asked.

                The Spymaster didn’t take offense to the Antivan’s attitude and led him to the hut they had moved him to after the botched assassination attempt, she had made a point to call Theron Mahanon even after they were alone by his bedside during her explanation. “Mahanon has not woken up once since the attempt to close the Breach,” she finished.

                “Amor,” he sighed and sat on the edge of the bed beside him. Fen’nas leapt onto the foot of the bed and laid down by his Master’s feet. Leliana moved to step closer but a glare from the assassin stopped her. “You have already betrayed Mahanon’s trust once, I will not allow it twice,” he warned.

                Leliana nodded, “I understand; I have a long way to go to redeem myself.”

                Zevran nodded, “but you did find me, that is a start, I suppose.” The Spymaster nodded and left. Zevran began pushing aside Theron’s braids and wiping sweat from his brow from the fever that had developed. “I am here, amor,” he soothed when Theron made a noise.

* * *

 

                Varric had watched Leliana and the new Elf enter Mahanon’s hut, but only the Spymaster leave and decided to introduce himself to whoever was keeping Stretch company. He knocked on the door and smiled up at the Elf who answered. He got a good look and nearly laughed, “well, well, look who it is.”  
                The Elf studied him a moment before realizing who the Dwarf was, he stepped aside to let him enter. “The Dwarf who followed the Champion,” he smiled, “Varric, yes?”

                “The one and only,” he replied and sat on a chair, eyeing the Mabari dozing on the bed, “Hawke would let his Mabari on the bed too. Didn’t realize you had one.”

                Zevran shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed, “I don’t. This fleabag belongs to Mahanon. He travelled with me while I attended to some business.” Fen’nas snorted his displeasure at the name, but did nothing else. “You are sleeping, you can’t hear us,” Zev argued with the dog.

                Varric glanced at the unconscious Elf, “glad I got the accent right. Didn’t know Mabari bonded with Dalish as well.”

                “Mahanon is a special case, but that is his story to tell, not mine,” the Antivan answered, but Varric could tell that he was growing protective of Mahanon and decided to drop that line of conversation. “So I take it you finally managed to convince your former employer to leave you alone,” he guessed.

                Zevran laughed and nodded, “the Crows ultimately decided that they had enough of losing assassins to try and either kill me or drag me back there.”

                The two continued talking for a while before the Dwarf eventually decided to call it a night and left the hut. The assassin turned to Theron who hadn’t even so much as shifted. “Such a crime that I am here and you are not awake to enjoy it,” he lamented and crawled under the covers of the small bed to sleep next to the most important person in his life.

* * *

 

                Zevran woke early the next morning to Theron shifting and moaning in his sleep, muttering nonsense in Common and Elvish. He sat up and smoothed his hair back, “easy, amor, it’s alright.” His hand grazed Theron’s forehead and he pulled it back in shock from the heat. The assassin was immediately up and grabbed the nearby pitcher of water and the cloth he had been using earlier, after quickly soaking the cloth and placing it on his forehead, he opened the door and turned to the Mabari. “Go get help,” he ordered. Theron’s shifting threw off the cloth, “I will stay here and try to keep his fever down." Fen’nas barked and ran out the open door, looking for someone that was awake this early.

                Solas had gotten up early to enjoy some quiet time before the rest of Haven woke up only to have a very large ball of fur bowl him over. The mage pushed himself out of the snow to look at the very large dog staring at him with his head cocked. He recognized the hound from memories in the Fade that this was a Mabari. “Hello there,” he greeted, feeling somewhat silly to be talking to a dog, but all the memories confirmed that this was a very intelligent breed.

                The dog looked torn between being happy to see him and growling. His ears perked up and the hound made a decision, a very strange concept to the Apostate. The hound clamped down on his robes and began tugging Solas to his feet. Solas pulled his robe free from the dog and said dog started barking urgently at him.

                “I’m guessing he wants you to follow him, Chuckles,” Varric offered, having woken up from the barking.

Fen’nas turned to Varric with his tail wagging and trotted off, glancing back at the two. “I am going to say you are correct, Child of the Stone,” Solas agreed and both followed the Mabari.

Zevran had been having a hard time with Theron who seemed to be trapped in a fever-induced nightmare. “easy, amor!” He tried as the archer took a swing at him, “it’s me, it’s Zev.”

Theron threw his head to the side and fought as Zevran tried to keep him from falling off the bed. “No! Zev!” He called out, reaching for the air.

Zevran caught his hand and held it, “I’m here, amor. You’re safe.”

Solas and Varric ran in and saw as Mahanon calmed slightly at the Antivan’s touch. The mage was stunned; he had never thought he would see a bond as strong at the one between these two; even with his short time among the Dalish, he had only seen the faintest of line connecting two Elves. With these two, it was almost painfully bright. “Andraste’s ass!” Varric exclaimed, bringing Solas back to the present. The Dwarf rushed over and picked up the fallen cloth since Zevran was occupied with keeping his lover calm.

Solas walked over and cast a cold spell on the cloth Varric was using. “What happened?” He asked.

Zev shook his head, “he had a mild fever last night, and it seems it got worse.”

“Dorf (grey),” Mahanon rambled, “lath, iras ane ma? (love, where are you?)”

Zevran tightened his grip on Mahanon’s hand. He didn’t know much Elvish but he knew what “lath” meant. “Easy, amor,” he repeated.

“What did he say, Chuckles?” Varric asked.

“He said the word ‘grey’ and is asking where you are,” Solas answered, looking at the Antivan. Fen’nas whined and propped his head on the bed. Solas examined the hunter, running his healing magic through him. “The good news is that the fever does not seem to be caused by an illness,” the mage started.

“And the bad news?” Varric asked.

“As far as I can tell, his body is fighting the foreign magic in him,” the bald Elf continued, “and will continue to do so until the magic is fully assimilated.”

“Meaning he could have this fever for a while,” Varric grumbled.

“Not necessarily,” Solas explained, “Elves by their very nature are magical and adaptable, once his body adapts to the magic, the fever should disappear.”

“How long will that take?” Zevran asked.

The mage shook his head, “it is impossible to tell.” He stepped back when Fen’nas nudged himself between Solas and his Master; whatever good grace he had with the dog was apparently gone. “I will go fetch the Apothecary,” he informed and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here! Sorry it's been so long. I haven't been inspired to write until recently.


	4. Waking up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron wakes up and see Zevran there. Much bickering ensues.

Disclaimer: blah blah. I don’t own this blah blah

* * *

 

 

                Theron woke to the sound of snuffling in his ear and a whine. “Diana, ma mor dharlin (stop, you big puppy),” he groused and pushed the dog back, “I’m awake.” He stopped when he realized what he was saying and opened his eyes. “Fen’nas?” He sat up, unable to believe his eyes and looked around, “the Beyond looks a lot like Haven.” He heard a chuckle and looked over to see Zev next to the bed. “Vhen’an? (heart)” He asked, heart jumping into his throat.

                “I am here, amor (love), and neither of us is dead, last I checked,” the Antivan smiled. Theron launched himself out of the bed and held onto the Elf tightly, afraid if he let go, he would disappear.

                “How did you get here?” He asked when he finally let go.

                “Leliana found me,” he smiled, “or rather, her agents did. She explained what happened and I can understand your anger, amor. She seems to be trying to make it up.”

                “You’re telling me to forgive her for imprisoning me and thinking I killed all those people?” He snorted and patted the dog on the head.

                “No, I’m saying she seems to be trying to make it up,” Zevran shook his head.

                Theron smiled and finally got up only for his knees to buckle. “How long was I lying here?” He asked.

                Zevran helped him up, “three days.”

                Theron looked down at himself, “please tell me you dressed me.”

                The Antivan laughed and nodded, “don’t worry, mi amor.”

                The archer leaned close to him, “I hope it wasn’t you who chose this outfit.” He kicked off the shoes while leaning against Zev.

                “It wasn’t me who chose your pajamas,” he leaned in close, “we can have some fun getting you out of them.”

                Theron wrapped his arms around the other Elf, “I’ve always enjoyed your idea of fun.”

                They leaned in close but a gasp and the clatter of dishes stopped them. “Hejo de un perra (son of a bitch),” Zevran swore and both turned to see the servant.

                The Elven woman dropped to her knees, “forgive me, my lord, I did not realize you were awake.”

                “I only just woke up,” he tried to console. He looked over at her, “why are you still bowing?”

                “Forgive me, my lord,” she stood up, “Seeker Cassandra will want to know you’ve awakened. She said ‘at once’.”

                “Where is she?” He asked.

                “In the Chantry,” the servant answered, backing towards the door, “’at once’ she said.”

                “Shall we go see what the lady Seeker wants?” Zevran asked.

                “If she accuses me of blowing up the Conclave, please stab her,” Theron requested and detangled himself from the other Elf.

                Zevran laughed and nodded, “you needn’t worry, mi amor, I will defend your innocence.” The way he said “innocence” made Theron turn and glare at him. “We waste time just standing here, amor; as much as I enjoy your gaze, perhaps we should see what this Seeker wants, yes?”

                “Edhis (“penis” he’s calling Zev a dick),” he grumbled and arranged his braids.

                “It is not an insult when I don’t know what it means,” the Antivan chuckled.

                “It is when I’ve offered to teach you Elvish before only for you to refuse,” the hunter countered and reached for the door.

                Zevran’s rebuttal died on his lips when Theron opened the door to see what seemed like all of Haven standing in front of the hut he was in. “Mierda santa (holy shit),” he breathed.

                Theron sighed and swore under his breath, “Mythal’s mercy, not again.” He stepped out and started walking as whispers started to make their way through the crowds. Fen’nas clearly didn’t like it and growled at anyone who got too close to his Master for his liking. Zevran wasn’t much better, but at least he was only glaring at the crowds with a hand on his daggers. The Dalish Elf rolled his eyes and kept walking, “my mighty protectors.”

                By the time the trio had gotten to the Chantry, Mahanon and Zevran were bickering over the necessity of having a former Antivan Crow and a Mabari war hound scaring off any who even thought of approaching the archer.

                “I’m not made of glass, Zev, I don’t need you and Fen’nas scaring off anyone who gets in a five-foot radius of me,” Mahanon argued.

                “Need I remind you that since returning to Fereldan, you’ve already had a building fall on you-“ Zev started.

                “The building didn’t fall on me, Lath (love),” the other Elf interrupted.

                “You were caught in an explosion!” The assassin countered. “You had a crazed Seeker after your head mounted on a pike, a Fear Demon try and cut you into pieces, AND an assassination attempt on you while you were unconscious from the tear in the sky trying to kill you; and you haven’t even been back in Fereldan for a week yet.”

                Mahanon waved him off and opened the door. “Chain him. I want him prepared for travel to the Capital for trial!” The Chancellor ordered.

                Zevran drew his blades and forced himself between the love of his life and the guards. “You are a magnet for trouble, amor.”

                The archer realized belatedly that in their squabbling, neither of them had remembered to grab his bow. “Fenedhis (curse word. Literally means “wolf dick”)!” He cursed and pulled free one of Zevran’s spare daggers from his belt. “I never said I wasn’t, vhen’an; I said I wasn’t made of glass.”

                One of the guards shifted to move toward them and the snarling Mabari leapt at the guard, sending the armoured man to the ground with a 200lb(i) war dog trying to get at his throat. The other guard surged forward. He stopped in his tracks when Cassandra barked an order to stop. “Belay that order,” she commanded, “he is not a prisoner.”

                “Atisha (peace), Fen’nas, amahn (here),” Mahanon ordered and the Mabari promptly hopped off the guard and trotted back to his Master with his stubby tail wagging. “Yes, yes, on dhar (good dog).” He glanced over at the other Elf who still had his blades drawn, “you too, Zev, sheathe ‘em.” Zevran hesitantly sheathed his blades and Mahanon returned the dagger to its rightful place.

                “So the dog gets praise for obeying, but not me?” Zevran placed his hand over his heart in mock hurt, “it wounds me, amor.”

                The hunter shook his head in amusement and patted Zevran on the head, “you’re a good dog too, Zev.”

                “Dog?” The blonde Elf sputtered in almost real indignation.

                Cassandra, the Chancellor, and the guards watched the two interact in stunned silence while Leliana just stood there, used to the way her friends behaved.

                The Seeker shook herself from her shock and looked at the two guards; one was still sprawled on the ground with holes in his armour from Fen’s fangs and the other was helping his comrade up. “Leave us,” she ordered and the two saluted and left.

                “You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” the Chancellor growled.

                Cassandra walked around the table to stand face to face with the holy man. “The Breach is stable but it is still a threat; I will not ignore it,” she argued.

                Mahanon looked over at her with a raised brow and Cassandra saw once more a Commander and not a civilian. “So does this mean I’m still a suspect or no?” He asked; a glance at the blonde Elf and the Mabari told her how she answered would dictate whether the guards needed to come back or not.

                “You absolutely are,” the Chancellor snarled.

                The Dalish didn’t even spare him a glance, “I’m not interested in your opinion, Shemlen.”

                The Chancellor sputtered his outrage. “No, you are not,” the Seeker answered.

                Leliana walked around the table to join Cassandra. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect,” she stared pointedly at the man, “perhaps they died with the others or have allies who yet live.”

                “ _I_ am a suspect?!”

                “You, and many others.”

                “But not the prisoner.”

                “I have a name,” Mahanon griped, but was ignored by the Humans arguing.

                “I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called out to him for help.”

                “So his survival, that thing on his hand--all coincidence?”

                “Providence. The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour.”

                “You realize I’m an Elf. A Dalish Elf,” he deadpanned.

                “I have not forgotten. No matter what you are, or what you believe, you are exactly what we needed when we needed it.” Cassandra walked to the back of the room to collect something.

                “The Breach remains, and your mark is still our only hope of closing it,” Leliana answered, trying to appeal to her friend’s sense of duty.

                “This is not for you to decide,” Roderick scowled.

                “Neither is it for you,” Zev commented, arms folded across his chest.

                Cassandra walked back over with a rather large looking book and let it thump onto the table. “You know what this is, Chancellor,” Cassandra pointed at the book, “a writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” She walked over and poked the Chantry man in the chest, “we will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

                The Chancellor glared at them all before leaving the room in a huff, Fen’nas barked happily as he left. “No need to be rude, Fen,” Mahanon patted the hound, “that’s his job.”

Leliana covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smirk. “This is the Divine’s directive; rebuild the Inquisition of Old. Find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice: we must act now,” Cassandra looked at the dark-haired Elf, “with you at our side.”

Mahanon stared at them in a rare show of what Cassandra believed he was: a Dalish Elf deeply out of his element. “What is the ‘Inquisition of Old’? This isn’t the first time you Shem have done this?”

Leliana shook her head, “it preceded the Chantry; people who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.”

“After, they laid down their banner and formed the Templar Order. But the Templars have lost their way,” the Seeker explained.

“Really? Slaughtering innocent mages is ‘losing their way’?” The Antivan asked blithely.

“Templars are necessary to protect mages,” she scowled.

“We are not having this discussion right now,” Mahanon ordered.

Cassandra nodded, “we need those who can do what must be done under a single united banner once more.” She held out her hand to the archer, “help us fix this before it is too late.”

Mahanon stared at her hand in thought then shrugged, “darem i’tel i’ve (gone without before),” and shook her hand, “seems to be my calling to save Humans from themselves.” Cassandra gave him an odd look at his comment, but said nothing since it worked in her favour.

                They were walking up to the War Room and she caught Mahanon staring at his mark on his hand. “Does it trouble you?” She asked in a voice she hoped was gentle; she knew the two of them could not have started off on a worse foot and was now trying to prove to the Elves that she was their ally.

                Mahanon stopped and stared at the mark before shaking his head, “Dalish are trained to be able to withstand pain so we can receive our Vallas’lin and become adults.”

                Cassandra nodded, not sure how to respond to that, “what’s important is that your mark is now stable, as is the Breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes a second attempt might succeed provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

                Zevran sighed and grabbed his lover’s marked hand, “it never is.” The assassin smiled charmingly at the woman, but she knew he was only being pleasant because Mahanon had told him not to cause trouble. It had been a rather…loud argument.

                “I hope you have something in mind,” he brought his free hand up to cup Zevran’s cheek.

                “We do,” she nodded and gestured for them to continue.

 

[i] Some Googling informed me that Mabari are around 4’4” tall and 215lbs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i) Some Googling informed me that Mabari are around 4’4” tall and 215lbs


	5. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron meets everyone and Cullen makes a friend

Disclaimer: I don’t own this, Bioware does. Don’t pull a Disney!

 

            They walked into the War Room and Cullen nearly fell to his knees in shock at the Elf who entered; he had never forgotten the face of the Elf who saved him all those years ago; he opened his mouth to say something but was stopped by a glare from Leliana and Josephine, thankfully Cassandra hadn’t noticed the brief exchange as Fen’nas had bounded passed her, nearly knocking her over.

            “Atish dur (calm down), Fen’nas,” Mahanon scolded but the Mabari wasn’t paying attention, he had spotted a familiar face and was determined to say hello.

            Fen had jumped up to Cullen and was wagging his tail with his front paws on Cullen’s shoulders, licking the poor man’s face. “Down, you great beast!” He pushed at the Mabari half-heartedly, the truth was that he had missed the dog of his homeland and while they were technically in Fereldan, no one here had a Mabari.

            Leliana laughed, “it seems you have a new friend, Commander.”

            A sharp whistle from the Dalish finally got the dog to release Cullen and returned to his Master. “Fen’nas knows a Mabari lover when he sees one,” Mahanon lied easily, “my apologies.”

            Cullen shook his head and wiped the slobber from his face. “It is alright, I know how affectionate Mabari can be.”

            The Seeker stared at the dog still happily wagging his tail by his Master’s side and thought of earlier when this same dog was doing his best to tear out a guard’s jugular.

            “Mabari are fiercely loyal creatures,” Leliana explained when she saw Cassandra’s expression, “they will kill anything that dares threaten the one they’ve imprinted on but can be quite friendly when unprovoked.”

            Cassandra shook her head, something more was going on here but she decided not to press it. “May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” she introduced.

            “Currently covered in Mabari spit,” Zevran added cheerfully.

            Cullen sighed and ignored the comment, “such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the Valley, and I fear more before this is through.”

            “This is Josephine Montilyet, our Ambassador and Chief Diplomat.”

            “Andaran atish’an,” she greeted.

            Mahanon was dumbstruck, “you speak Elvish?”

            “You just heard the entirety of it, I’m afraid.”

            “You still speak more of it than him,” he gestured to Zevran who glared at him.

            “I know enough,” he argued.

            “To get you in trouble,” he countered.

            “Bah, when have I ever done that?”

            “You called the Keeper dam etunash (cow shit).”

            “Yes, and?”

            “That literally means ‘cow shit’, Zev. You called the Keeper ‘cow shit’.”

            “That would explain why we left quickly.”

            “We left quickly because you drew a penis on the statue of Elgar’nan.”

            “He was anatomically incorrect.”

            “You defaced the statue of the God of Vengeance and Destruction.”

            Cassandra cleared her throat loudly to get their attention once more. “And of course, you already know Sister Leliana.”

            “My position here involves a degree of…”

            “She is our Spymaster.”

            “Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

            Mahanon folded his arms across his chest, “well, that is an impressive bunch of titles, why am I here?”

            “I mentioned your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,” Cassandra answered.

            “Which means we must approach the Rebel Mages for help,” Leliana continued.

            “I still disagree,” Cullen shook his head, “the Templars could serve just as well.”

            The Seeker breathed impatiently, “we need power, Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark-“

            “Might destroy us all. Templars could supress the Breach, weaken it so-“ Cullen interrupted.

            “Pure speculation,” Leliana interjected.

            “I was a Templar. I know what they’re capable of,” he countered.

            “Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet,” Josephine shook her head, “and the Chantry has denounced the Inquisition – and you, specifically.”

            “The was quick,” the Dalish Elf muttered.

            “Shouldn’t they be busy bickering over who becomes the next Divine?” Cullen growled.

            “Some are calling you- a Dalish Elf- the ‘Herald of Andraste’. That frightens the Chantry. The remaining Clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harbouring you,” the Ambassador explained.

            “Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Cassandra added.

            “It limits our options. Approaching the Mages or the Templars for help is currently out of the question,” the Diplomat continued.

            “Great, a title,” Mahanon sighed irritably, “just how am I the ‘Herald of Andraste’? I don’t even believe in your Shem Maker.”

            “People saw what you did at the Temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the Rift when we first found you. They believe it was Andraste,” Cassandra explained.

            “Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading,” Leliana started.

            “Which we have not,” the Seeker added.

            “The point it, everyone is talking about you.”

            “That’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?” Cullen asked.

            “I’m no ‘Herald’ of anything. Particularly not of Andraste,” he scowled.

            Cullen laughed, “I’m sure the Chantry would agree.”

            “People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you are that sign,” the Spymaster tried to get him to understand without appealing too much to his sense of honour.

            “And to others, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong,” Josephine added.

            “Nice to know those people have their priorities straight,” he grumbled sarcastically.

            “They know the Breach is a threat. They just don’t think we can stop it,” Cullen stated.

            “The Chantry is telling everyone you’ll make it worse,” the Ambassador informed.

            “There is something you can do,” Leliana stated, “a Chantry Cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

            Mahanon rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I’ll see what she has to say.”

* * *

 

            The three walked out of the Chantry and into the Sun. “Ah, the center of events that threaten to shake the world to it’s core once more; quite nostalgic, no?” Zevran threw his arm over his lover’s shoulders.

            “Yes, very,” Theron shook his head wearily, “I regret leaving the damn forest.” He started wandering to where he had last seen Solas, deciding he had had his fill of Humans who believe him to be their saviour. “Andaran atish’an, Ha’hren (“elder” or “teacher”),” he greeted.

            “Savhalla, da’len (hello, child),” Solas greeted, “the Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all.”

            “I have no interest in being a hero. All I want is to find a way to seal this Breach,” Theron shook his head.

            “Really, I would have thought you would be used to the title,” Solas shrugged, “but irrelevant either way.”

            Zevran gave the bald Elf a suspicious glare and glanced at his partner who had taken on the look he got when was “listening” and was no longer really paying attention. He also wondered how Theron knew to address this particular Elf with respect and why it seemed like Solas had naturally expected Theron to respect him as an Elder. He knew something felt off about the Apostate and everything in him screamed that this mage was dangerous but couldn’t figure out much more than that.

            Solas noticed the look in Theron as well and began to walk to bring his attention back to him instead of whatever had caught his attention; he had seen that look on Elves back in the time of Arlathan but it was a rare ability that he was sure died out centuries ago. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to re-enact the bloody past in wars both famous and forgotten,” he turned to look at Theron whose ears had perked up when Solas caught his attention once more, “every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

            The Dalish quickly caught up to understand what Solas was talking about. “You study ancient ruins and battlefields?”

            “Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death,” Solas answered, “both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has seen.”

            “You just sleep in ancient ruins? Isn’t that dangerous?”

            “I do set wards, and if you leave food out for the Giant Spiders, they are usually content to live and let live,” he replied and Zevran snorted at that, his experience with Giant Spiders said something different.

            “I’ve never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade, that’s extraordinary.”

            “Thank you. It’s not a common field of study for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing lightening or fire.”

            “The lightening or fire seems more useful though,” Zev commented, his instincts warning him to keep away from the mage.

            Theron elbowed him lightly, “and how would you know? Neither of us are mages.”

            “But lightening and fire can be used in a fight, no? What can ancient memories so when you are facing down an opponent?”

            “Ancient memories mean ancient magic. Remember that ruin in the Brecillian Forest?”

            Zevran nodded, “ah, yes, the creepy glowing crystal you insisted on picking up.”

            Solas watched them bicker and chuckled under his breath, how these two managed to form such a strong bond was beyond him. He shook his head as the argument continued while the blonde Elf slowly steered his partner away from him. The Apostate didn’t mind too much; he knew Zevran didn’t trust him and was merely trying to protect his love. He watched as they walked away arguing about a rhyming tree. “I will stay,” he said to himself and returned to what he had been doing.

            The two only stopped going back and forth when Varric called out to them. The Dwarf gestured to the stumps by the fire, “Stretch, Birdie, have a seat.”

            “’Birdie’?” Zevran repeated.

            “You’re a crow, aren’t you?” The Dwarf smirked.

            “Former,” Mahanon reminded and sat down with Zev right beside him.

            Varric noticed Mahanon usually maintained some sort of physical contact with the assassin but didn’t pay it much mind since Merrill did something similar back in Kirkwall, hell, even Broody started to get touchy-feely with Hawke when he finally gave up trying to run from the persistent human. _Must be an Elf thing_ he thought. “So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up all right? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than one day.”

            Mahanon shook his head and exhaled tiredly, “I have no idea what’s happening anymore.”

            “That makes two of us,” Varric nodded, “for days now, we’ve been staring up at the Breach, watch Demons and Maker knows what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and survived.”

            “I’m still hoping all of this is a joke,” the Dalish Elf sighed.

                “If this is the Maker winding us up, there had better be a damn good punchline,” the Dwarf smiled, “you might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going. Heroes are everywhere, I’ve seen that. But that hole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes, we’re going to need a miracle.”

            “Then I guess it’s a good thing people here consider me one,” Mahanon shrugged.

* * *

 

The trio moved on to just outside the gates to see Cassandra hacking at a training dummy viciously. “I suppose we should at least try to get along with her,” Theron grumbled.

“I’m sure our smelly friend would call you the ‘paragon on friendship’ if he was here,” Zev grinned.

“I’m sure Oghren would have made a poor attempt to get her into bed with him,” the Dalish laughed, “with her boot up his ass as a reward for his efforts.”

“Now that would be interesting to see,” the blonde elf nodded.

They walked over and watched Cassandra break the dummy. “I hope that wasn’t meant to be me,” Mahanon commented.

The Seeker looked down at the broken dummy, “what, that?”

The hunter shrugged, “you obviously don’t like somebody.”

“Did I do the right thing? What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I revered my whole life. One day, they might write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right,” she sighed.

“Bit late to be worrying about that now,” he responded.

“We have only just begun,” she replied, “My trainers always said, ‘Cassandra you are too brash. You must think before you act.’ I see what must be done and I do it! I see no point in running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail. But I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

Mahanon’s ears twitched in surprise at that, he hadn’t expected her to admit she had been wrong in accusing him and it made him think more carefully on his answer. “Can’t say I’m not grateful to hear that,” he finally answered.

“I can be harsh, I know.” She finally sheathed her sword and turned to fully face the elves. “You’ve said you don’t believe you’re chosen. Does that mean… you also don’t believe in the Maker?”

The Dalish elf’s ears flattened against his head in irritation, “I’m Dalish, I believe in our own Gods.”

The Seeker snorted a little, “you said yourself that you question your people’s stories.”

The Hunter scowled, “I do question them but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in the Creators entirely. It’s important in any religion to question what you’re taught and not just blindly obey.”

The warrior flinched minutely at the accusation but didn’t rise for the bait. “And there’s no room among your gods for one more?” She watched as Zevran quickly wrapped a hand around his lover’s arm to keep him from advancing on her. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I have to believe we were put on this path for a reason, even if you do not. Now it simply remains to see where it leads us.”

Mahanon was getting red in the face and was about to retort when his other half started to pull him away. “Come now, mi amor, we all must play nice. Remember?”

“Dahn'direlan (idiot, moron, lit. bee puncher, one who punches bees)! Telithal (blind, lit. not seeing) Shemlen!” He cursed when they were away from Haven in the forest surrounding it. Theron had taken to throwing snowballs at the trees to keep himself from wasting his arrows.

Zevran didn’t have to know what his lover was saying to know it was directed at Seeker Pentaghast. The assassin silently gathered up some snow and pelted his wild elf in the back of the head with the snow ball.

The hunter stopped mid-rant to turn and stare at Zevran with his hand on the back of his head. “Did you just throw a snowball at me?” He asked dumbly.

“Perhaps,” the blonde elf hummed and scooped up more snow, “did it look like this?” He threw the ball at the other elf.

“Fenedhis!” He cursed and ducked, hearing the piff of the snowball hitting the tree behind him. “This means war, Zev!” He scooped up his own snowball and whipped it at the assassin.

Zevran side-stepped and watched the ball zip passed him. “You will have to do better than that, amor.” He turned to where Theron had been seconds ago only to see an empty space. “Amor?” He called out and made another snowball, cautiously stepping forward to look for his target.

Theron watched from his perch in a tree and waited for Zevran to get into position under him and began shaking the branch he was on. “Heads up, Zev!” He warned.

The blonde looked up at the pile of snow heading for him and knew he had no time to get out of the way. He threw his snowball where he hoped his lover was and braced for impact. He knew he got a lucky shot when he heard a surprised squawk and something land in the snow pile beside him. Both heads popped out of the mound of snow and were immediately pushed back down when Fen’nas decided to join in the fun.

“Ack! Fen! Get off!” Theron pushed at the dog. Zevran was in a similar situation and was pushing at the hound as well. Finally, the Mabari relented and allowed the two elves to get up.

The two rogues stepped out of the pile and brushed the snow off of themselves. Zevran looked over at his lover and grinned, “feel better, mi amor?”

Theron pulled Zevran close and kissed him before smiling, “I am. Thank you.” He could feel the other elf starting to shiver in his arms. “Let’s go back and get into something warm.”

* * *

 

            Cullen had been debating whether or not to go talk to Theron. The Commander had been pacing in his tent ever since he had excused himself from training his troops. The elf obviously didn’t want anyone to know who he was so would he get mad if Cullen went to him? This was not the calm Grey Warden from his memories, this was an angry little elf snarling at whatever human dared annoy him.

            Finally, the Commander made up his mind and left to go see the two elves. He could use the excuse of wanting to see if he could borrow the Mabari for training tomorrow if it turned out he was not wanted.

            He knocked on the door of the hut and shifted nervously in place while he waited. He could hear grumbling from inside and nearly turned to run before the door could open. Theron had become something of an icon for him when he finally let go of all his anger he had been holding on to since Kinloch Hold (Fereldan Circle). Cullen wanted to be everything the Hero of Fereldan was in his mind; honourable, brave, fierce, and loyal.

            Theron opened the door in a simple shirt of Dalish design and an old pair of pants that Cullen is partly convinced are on backwards. “Something I can help you with, Commander?” The Dalish elf asks, arms folded across his chest and leaning slightly on the door frame. The human can see movement in the background but Theron is in the way.

            “Ah, yes, Th-“ He catches the glare and immediately corrects himself, “Mahanon. I was hoping I could speak with you.” He’s shifting in place again and can’t bring himself to look the hunter in the eye.

            The rogue laughs and pushes himself off the door frame. “Come in then,” he half sighs, half laughs. The archer walks back to his place in front of the fireplace and tugs at the blanket Zevran has wrapped himself in. “Let go, Zev.”

The Antivan grumbles and quickly opens the blanket and yanks his lover in and closes the gap, trapping both elves in the blanket. “Close the door, Commander, you’re letting the cold air in.”

Cullen steps in and shuts the door quickly behind him, he can feel the heat from his place by the door. The former templar walks over to see both elves wrapped snuggly in a large blanket that had been pulled off the bed in front of the fire crackling away with a bottle of Antivan Brandy warming by the fire. Fen’nas lifted his head up to woof sleepily at the Commander before laying his head back down and basking in the heat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he apologized.

Theron shook head and pulled an arm out to gesture at the nearby chair, “have a seat. You’re welcome to some of the brandy but you’ll have to pour it yourself, I doubt Zev will let me go long enough to pour it.”

The blonde elf shifted closer to his other half pulled the blankets more closely around him, “you have that right, amor. You are going nowhere.”

The Commander remembered the suspicious glare the assassin had given them all earlier and compared it to the mildly annoyed one he was getting now. Clearly, the Antivan didn’t consider him enough of a threat to warrant leaving the warmth of the blanket. “Do not concern yourself, Mahanon. I can pour my own drink,” he picked the bottle up and grabbed a glass. He preferred ale, but wouldn’t turn down a bit of liquid courage right now. He downed the glass and frowned at the taste, ale was definitely better. “I never got to apologize for what I said to you all those years ago,” he started and poured himself another glass and one for each elf, “I spent years hating mages for what they did and you for letting them go free.” He stared at the fire, too ashamed to look at the Hero of Fereldan. “I am not proud of the man I was.”

Theron was quiet as he considered what exactly he wanted to say to Cullen. He had never taken anything the man said personally; he had been through a traumatic experience and was lashing out at anything, that was something Theron could understand. “Your apology is accepted but not needed, Cullen. I never took what you said to heart.” The elf set down his empty glass near Cullen and the Commander took the hint and filled it. “I understood then that you had gone through something terrible and that it would affect what you said and did.”

Cullen jumped up from his seat, “how can you forgive me, just like that?! I accused you of freeing Maleficar and condemned your actions!”

The hunter looked over at Cullen and the human could see the patient Grey Warden now just like he had back then. His anger couldn’t hold up under that unflappable gaze so he sat back down and watched the fire crackle away. He finished another glass and immediately poured himself another, no longer caring about the taste. “How can you forgive me when I can’t even forgive myself?” He muttered.

Fen had gotten up and gone to lay across the former Templar’s feet. The Commander reached down to pet the animal in an attempt to calm down. “I condemned so many to death and tranquility,” he buried his face in his hands, “because of my fear and hatred. How can anyone forgive me?”

            Theron sighed and finished his drink, pushing the glass away from himself and leaned back on the palms of his hands. When Cullen had stepped into his hut, this was not the way he pictured the evening going.

            “We all do things we are not proud of, Cullen,” Zevran beat Theron to whatever it was the Dalish had been about to say. “But we must live with it, whether we ever forgive ourselves or not.” Theron wrapped his arms around his assassin in comfort, he knew what his love was thinking about.

            Cullen nodded and gave Fen one more pat before nudging the hound off his feet. “I-thank you.” Whatever the human had been looking for when he came, he had obviously not found it but was at least calmer than he had been when he first entered. “I’m sorry for taking up your time,” he lifted the mostly empty bottle, “and drinking most of your brandy.” The Commander stood up and headed for the door, “I will see to getting you a new bottle.”

            Theron shook his head, “don’t worry about it, Cullen. I’m sure we can get another bottle out of Flissa ourselves.” He moved to get out of the blanket but Zevran had none of that and refused to let him go. “Zev, let me go,” he grumbled but made no real attempt to leave the blonde’s embrace.

            The human chuckled, “you don’t need to see me out, Mahanon. I will see you tomorrow.” He nodded his goodbye and left, making sure to shut the door quickly behind him. He staggered a bit as he headed back for his tent, unaware of figure hidden in the shadow of the hut.


	6. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron meets Mother Giselle and Cassandra gets yelled at

Disclaimer: Blah, blah blah. Dragon Age is Bioware. Do these actually work if the owner wants to be an ass?

 

Mother Giselle was kneeling next to an Inquisition soldier than had been injured in the taking of the Crossroads when she heard footsteps approach but paid them no mind as she tended to the young man. “There are mages here that can heal your wounds,” she comforted, “lie still.”

            “Don’t…don’t let them touch me, Mother. Their magic is-” The soldier began.  
            “Turned to noble purpose,” she coaxed, “their magic is surely no more evil than your blade.”

            “But,” the soldier whimpered.

            “Hush, dear boy, allow them to ease your suffering,” she advised. The man reluctantly laid down and the mage that had been patiently waiting stepped forward to heal the man. It was then that the Mother turned around to look at the Elf that had been waiting with arms folded across his chest for her to finish.

            When she had heard that an Elf was the Herald of Andraste, she expected a mage or even a city elf that had been attending the Conclave, not a Dalish. She hid her surprise, it was not her place to judge the Maker’s plan.

            “Mother Giselle?” He asked and stepped forward from his spot by the pile of lumber.

            She walked towards him and nodded, “I am. And you must be the one they are calling the Herald of Andraste.”

            His ears twitched at the title and he shook his head. “Not through any choice of mine,” he sighed and tucked a braid behind an ear, causing the luminous feather woven into it to stick out at an odd angle.

            She chuckled at his words but didn’t dare look at the odd-looking feather. “We seldom have much say in our fate, I’m sad to say,” she replied.

            “Tell me about it,” he grumbled under his breath and Cassandra glared at the back of his head.

            “I don’t presume to know the Maker’s intentions for any of us. But I did not ask you to come here simply to debate with me.”

            Mahanon rose an eyebrow at that, it wasn’t often members of the Chantry passed up an opportunity to cram their religion down his throat. “Then why am I here?”

            The Mother gestured for the Herald to follow her as she walked. “I know of the Chantry’s denouncement and I am familiar with those behind it. I won’t lie to you, some are grand-standing hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine. Some are simply terrified; so many good people senselessly taken from us.”

            “But don’t you stand with the rest of the Chantry?” He asked, ignoring the last bit.

            “With no Divine we are each left to our own conscience and mine tells me this: go to them, convince the remaining clerics that you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

            Mahanon almost laughed. “You mean appeal to them? Have you seen me? I doubt many, if any, would even listen to me let alone believe me.”

            “If I thought you were incapable, I wouldn’t suggest it,” she smiled softly. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was someone who had seen him from ten years ago, Shems all looked alike to him then. “Let me put it this way: you needn’t convince them all. You just need some doubt. Their power is their unified voice, take that from them and you will receive the time you need.”

            The Dalish hunter was quiet in thought for a moment. “Thank you, it is good of you to do this,” he nodded.

            “I honestly don’t know if you’ve been touched by fate or sent to help us, but I hope. Hope is what we need now. The people will listen to your rallying call as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us or destroy us. I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana with names of those in the Chantry who will be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can.”

            Mahanon nodded, “very well. I am sure there are many your presence would comfort.” She smiled at him, pleased he had agreed. “Do keep in mind that I am not Andrastian and have no desire to convert.”

            Mother Giselle nodded, “very well, Herald.”

His ears twitched at the title again but said nothing about it. “Good day, Mother Giselle.” With that, he turned and rejoined the group with Cassandra still trying to burn holes into the back of his head. Everyone knew that it was only a matter of time before the Seeker brought this up. They could only hope people would not be nearby.

* * *

 

As luck, would have it, they were out in the wilds looking for traces of Ram when Cassandra could take no more. The war had killed the ones that wandered too close to the roads and the rest were deep in the plains, away from people. Mahanon was kneeling to inspect some tracks, trying to catch a Ram’s trail. The plains aren’t known for their vast forests so the trees could not help by telling him which way game would be.

Almost all the tracking Mahanon did since he was the only one with any real experience at it. Zevran had tried a couple of times to learn how his other half tracked but eventually gave up. Varric had never left Kirkwall before Hawke and even then, there was no need to hunt. Cassandra’s work didn’t often take her out of cities for long enough to worry about. Solas knew a little from his time exploring and running out of rations but not enough to help now. The only one who could help was Fen’nas, who was chasing rabbits.

“You were rude to Mother Giselle,” Cassandra finally confronted.

The hunter didn’t even look up from what he was doing, “what makes you say that, Seeker? All I did was make sure she understood that while she was welcome, I would not tolerate attempts to convert me.”

“She hadn’t even suggested it,” she retorted.

“No, but that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t. You Chantry folk seem to have this odd urge to try and convert any who stand before you whether they want to or not.” He ran his fingers over a track, too old.

“The Maker will only return to his creation when the Chant of Light has spread to all the corners of the World. That includes you.”

Varric and the two Elves both saw exactly when the Seeker had pushed Mahanon to his limit. “Seeker,” Varric started, trying to change the subject. Zevran moved to kneel beside his beloved to comfort him; religion had always been a sore spot with him. While he may question the beliefs he had grown up with all his life, he was in no way willing to abandon them.

“You are called the ‘Herald of Andraste’ for a reason,” she continued, ignoring Varric’s attempts to calm them.

Mahanon shifted so he was just touching his assassin and closed his eyes, trying to keep his temper in check. Fen’nas whined beside him, having come over when he sensed his Master’s distress.

            “The Maker sent you. Divine providence,” she argued, oblivious to the fact that everyone around had gone silent.

Mahanon suddenly stood up, nearly toppling Zevran. “Enough, I will hear no more of this,” he ordered. Cassandra was dumbstruck by her instinctive urge to obey a commanding officer. The Elf stared at her in a way that dared her to contradict his order.

The Seeker’s eyes narrowed but she remained quiet. “Come, mi amor, that is enough tracking for today, we should make camp,” he wrapped a hand around the others upper arm and guided him away.

The Dalish Elf sighed and nodded, “perhaps you’re right. There is an ideal spot not too far back I saw.”

Varric and Solas both glanced at each other, neither had ever seen the Seeker to be the first one to back down.

* * *

 

Camp was made and the group were sitting around the fire waiting for the rabbits Fen had caught earlier to be fully cooked. “We could have gone back and gotten food from the Crossroads or had Inquisition soldiers bring us something,” Varric complained.

“I think the refugees need that food more than we do, Master Tethras,” Solas commented, “we are perfectly capable of getting our own.”

“Last I looked, Chuckles, the dog got this, not us,” the Dwarf chuckled and poked at one of the cooking bits of rabbit meat.

“That is true,” Zevran nodded, “so we can rest assured it will be seasoned with dog saliva.”

“Ugh,” Cassandra frowned at the idea.

Mahanon turned the meat so it would cook properly and looked over at the rest. “If it worries you that much, you lot are free to try your hand at hunting,” he smirked, leaning back on the palms of his hands.

“Such choices!” The Antivan mock lamented, “to eat this tainted meat, to starve, or feed the wolves!” Fen’nas lifted his head up to growl at the Elf. “Oh, don’t look so offended.” The Mabari huffed and laid his head back down.

“I agree with Fen’nas, if you die from this, we can feed your tainted corpse to those wolves we were told about,” Mahanon laughed. Zevran responded with a rude gesture which made the hunter laugh harder. Varric and Solas both joined at coming up with ways to feed Zevran to the wolves but Cassandra remained quiet.

As the laughter died down, Solas couldn’t help but think of earlier. “Tel'dhru'gonathe (impressive or amazing),” he commented.

“Ahn, Haren (what, elder)?” Mahanon looked up from checking on the meat.

“Thu ma telahnem pan she’el (how you quieted the argument earlier),” he continued.

“Nere (maybe),” he shrugged, “ela gara telam’el. Melana judirth (could get worse. Time will tell).”

“Saying naughty things, mi amor?” Zevran asked, sliding up to lean against his beloved.

“Oh, if only you knew, vhenan,” he chuckled and wrapped an arm around the Assassin’s waist when he did the same. Mahanon extracted himself from the other Elf a few minutes later to pass the cooked rabbit.

Varric noticed how quickly the Herald finished and was immediately going for seconds. “Andraste’s tits! Where do you put it all?” He laughed as Mahanon continued to eat like he hadn’t in days.

Mahanon was too busy eating to notice but Zevran caught the suspicious look in the Dwarf’s eyes; he had been around Grey Wardens before and knew about their large appetites. He wondered just how long his love’s secret would remain so. “Perhaps it winds up in the Fade,” the Assassin grinned and nudged Mahanon who swallowed his mouthful to look over at the blonde Elf curiously. “I realize you and Fen like to see who can out-eat who but perhaps that competition is best left for later.”

The Dalish looked at his meat and sighed before tossing it to his Mabari, “perhaps you’re right.” The Mabari perked up at the extra meat and began to munch happily on it. “Don’t get used to that, you’re a war-dog. Not a pampered Orlesian pet.” Fen’nas barked and resumed eating.

* * *

 

The fire had died down to embers and everyone had retired for the night, Fen’nas sleeping outside his Master’s tent to listen for danger. Zevran had been sleeping soundly when a noise nearby woke him. His first reaction was to reach for the dagger under his pillow until he realized that the noise was coming from Theron - lost in a nightmare. The Assassin sighed and shook his shoulder, “amor, wake up.”

The other Elf groaned and rolled over, still trapped in his own mind. Zevran could hear him muttering something under his breath but couldn’t make out the words, it didn’t sound like any language he had ever heard. He tried again, shaking a little harder, “come now, how can you sleep when I am right beside you? Wake up, mi amor.”

He got some success when Theron suddenly lashed out at his “attacker”, pinning the blonde to the bed roll. Zev didn’t dare move, Theron had had nightmares before but never anything like this. “Querido (darling), you need to wake up,” he spoke calmly, waiting for him to come to his senses.

Theron’s eyes slowly focused and when he realized what he was doing, he leapt from Zevran like he had been burnt. “Zev! I-I’m so sorry!” The Hunter was already making his way for the tent opening when the other caught him by the wrist.

“Do not leave, I’m unharmed and not angry,” he pulled Theron to him and wrapped his arms around the shaking Elf, “what happened?”

“I saw it,” Theron sighed and melted into his bond-mate’s embrace, “the Archdemon. I could hear it calling.”

Zevran froze in horror, the thought of losing Theron too much for him to bear thinking about. “Then was it…?” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Theron shook his head, “I don’t believe so, something about it seems wrong. Fake almost. It’s hard to describe.” The blonde resumed his stroking of Theron this time more to comfort himself than the other. “Doesn’t help the nightmares,” he sighed.

Neither were paying very close attention to the shadow that had been outside of their tent, woken by the yelling.


End file.
